the idea of a blank canvas

you know i would never call you out on it, i would never suggest that your stupidity is something to mock at, but it is. today james said well whats the problem with having a blank canvas for a boyfriend? and i laughed, because i always swore id neve date a boy who had less tattoos then me, i know ridculous. the point of a canvas is to fill it, to play with it, to turn it into some sort of art work. something to leave behind, so way to signify your mark, to mark the points in your life, to have these scars, these war stories on display, for people to judge you to ask questions youll never answer, like oh whats that mean? well fuck you. it means this is me. i refuse to be your fucking half painted canvas, i wont skip out on the idea of being half sleeved, or full sleeved one day, im not the kinda of girl who can just be blank, there is not an ounce in my body of fluid that isnt worth describing on my flesh. you got this skin to use it. give me your stories. give me your love. give me your hate, its all protrayed somewhere, and you know what, yeah i will be your dictionary. the thing about you and me, is when i die its burning with me. these loves, these ideas of being more than you. this is me. and my fucking inked glory.